Unshakable Duty
by GuileandGall
Summary: Sebastian is assigned to investigate rumors of mages living in and operating in the lower levels beneath the city. In Darktown, he discovers a mage who is proves more slippery than those he's sought before—Siobhán Hawke, who is nearing the end of her assignment with Athenril's smuggling guild.
1. The Chase Begins

**Summary:** Sebastian is assigned to investigate rumors of mages living in and operating in the lower levels beneath the city. In Darktown, he discovers a mage who is proves more slippery than those he's sought before—Siobhán Hawke, who is nearing the end of her assignment with Athenril's smuggling guild.

 **a/n:** This was written as a holiday gift for a dear friend I've made this year. inuy21 thank you so much being a sounding board for me—with writing, ranting, and just random things that sparked my brain to run rampantly wild. Thank you to joufancyhuh for sharing the premise for this series with me.

 **Series Notes:** A canon-divergent series where instead of being invested as a Chantry brother by his family, Sebastian was instead sent to the Templars and sent away from Starkhaven. Serving in the Gallows for some time, he's become quite a skilled and disciplined soldier, who is certain that his vocation is to ensure the safety of the people by ensuring all mages are carefully watched over in the Circle. But he meets one that will test all his skills, his patience, and his outlook.

 **Unshakable Duty: The Chase Begins**

 **-1-**

A subtle cracking sound echoed through the dark tunnels, making the hair on the templar's arms stand up. It could only be one thing and it had nothing to do with the pungent odor of Darktown that threatened to choke him. Sebastian's head snapped toward a long, shady corridor lit by a single torch that flickered against the earthen walls. He found the source of the magic quickly. A dwarven man lay on the ground frozen, covered in fine and shimmering shards of ice, while a shadowy figure loomed over him like a specter of death.

"Hold," Sebastian called out.

The mage's head snapped upward; otherworldly pale eyes, like something straight from the fade, stared up at him. He moved toward the two of them—mage and victim—bow in hand prepared for a confrontation. To his surprise, it did not come. The culprit bolted; he gave chase.

The mage's head start did not deter Sebastian Vael. This was not his first time chasing a maleficar; seeking out rogue and escaped magic users was part and parcel of the duties of a knight of the Order of the Templars. And it was a task he did not shy away from; in fact, he rather excelled at it. While it may have taken years, Sebastian now held his purpose close to his heart and took his role as a steadfast protector of the people of Thedas with the devotion his family always hoped, and his commanders could count on.

Delivered to the Chantry as a boy, his parents wished in part to punish his disobedient and disparaging behavior, as well as to remove him from any and all competition to the successful ascension of either of his brothers to the ruling seat of Starkhaven. They might have also hoped that the Order might sober his uninhibitedness. When he was younger, he preferred to think of it as punishment, as having been cast out from his family, but eventually the vocation chosen for him did exactly what had been hoped; the Order gave Sebastian purpose and direction, calming some of his wildest habits in the process.

Sprinting down the corridor in the lower section of Darktown, Sebastian vaulted over the mage's rotund victim with ease. He kept his bow at the ready for the chance to stop and fire a shot that would end this race, intending to wound the mage in order to return them the Gallows. To his surprise, his quarry proved nimbler than expected, and quicker as well, like they trained in evasion.

Despite his own lithe build and dexterity, the mage paced him, maintained a respectable amount of distance between them; whether it be natural or some form of magic, Sebastian could not judge with any degree of certainty. Though he suspected it to be a Maker-given ability as he felt no signs of magic or the Fade about him. And his mark did not look back at him, but concentrated on their escape—like any good assassin. The templar took in every detail he could, that he might be able to put to use in a future search, on the off chance that the mage did somehow manage to elude him.

A burnished leather cloak whipped behind long legs, the hood of it falling finally to reveal long dark hair hanging loose. _A woman_ , he assumed from the style and her body type. Though the dress was nothing like the mages he saw daily in the Gallows. The dark trousers fitted to her legs and were cut to accentuate the curve of her hips. Her blouse was also dark, and billowed around her like a pirate's sails.

He knew the junction they approached; she would take the stairs, he assumed, while he intended use the terrain to his advantage. As they approached the lip, his quarry did not dart left as Sebastian predicted. Instead, she took the same route he planned. Without slowing, even a step, she planted her foot onto the low ledge and leapt into the air.

In his surprise, it was he who pulled up short at the ledge, staring. She hit the ground and rolled back up to her feet, maize-colored Darktown dust covering her cloak in sparse patches. Her head whipped around, dark locks swirling over her shoulder as those piercing eyes turned his way once more. Her full lips curved into a smug smirk. Then she winked at him just before darting off once more.

Shaking his head clear, he took two steps back and jumped off the ledge. Without as much momentum, he almost didn't clear the stairs. And his observation, as he preferred to describe his moment of distraction, allowed this fiend to put more distance between them. But he picked up speed quickly once he tumbled to his feet. Her billowing cloak egged him forward as he pushed himself to the brink of what his body could manage in his attempt to make up some of his lost ground. Sebastian refused to allow her to escape, or so he told himself with every thudding beat of his racing heart.

When he turned that same corner, the path broke off. Pulling up to a halt, he glanced at the ground, then crouched as he searched the thick dust on the ground for tracks, of which he found none. _None_. That was not possible, he knew. This was Darktown, there were always people coming and going through these tunnels. If anything, a junction such as this should be littered in tracks. Determined not to let that fluke deter him, Sebastian sought any sign of her or the direction she fled, but he could not find a single hint of a trail. He walked several yards down one path, then another, and finally the third. The only tracks he found in his search were his own.

"Maker's beard," he grumbled straightening once more. _Surely, she must have used some kind of tempest spell_ , he told himself. _Only a mighty wind could be so thorough_. Still, he wondered, shouldn't he have felt it? Or some residual sensation of magic? His eyes skimmed the area once more, to no avail, before he headed back the way they came to find, help, and, ultimately, interrogate her victim.

 **-2-**

Siobhán Hawke clung to the shadows atop the ledge above the corridor, staring down at the templar. His persistence earned him some consideration from her and he searched the junction far longer than she expected of a templar. She'd met more than a few in her time, but most were easily bribed, distracted with a show of flesh, or just quickly bored with trying to discover where a wisp of a mage like her might have gotten off too.

 _This one though_. This templar seemed like he could prove a problem. Once he gave up his search for her, she followed him from above, sure to maintain enough distance and stepping with practiced care as to not give away her position. She'd noticed the bow, and refused to take the chance of putting his marksmanship to the test. Gathering her cloak in her hand to not dislodge any dust or debris, she crept along one of the wider ledges that lined the rafters of Darktown.

Once he climbed the steps, Hawke's caution increased several fold as he was closer now, at least in proximity. Keen senses might discern even the slightest sound, she knew, despite the rattling coughs of the sick and low din of rowdy conversations which carried through the dusty, twisting corridors of Darktown.

He returned to the spot where he happened upon her. _Bad luck, that_ , she thought. She failed to suppress the sigh that passed her lips. _Of course_ , she thought. He would return to the dwarf. The templar clearly didn't know he was a liar, a cheat, and pathologically unable to keep his word.

For a moment, the mage hunter's hands and eyes glowed, making the shimmering blue of his gaze shine like a beacon in the low light. A wave of cold pulsed through the air, enveloping her. She could feel the magic thrumming through her own blood subside a bit; it was an unnerving sensation, but not entirely foreign. When the thin veneer of ice cracked and fell away, she knew he'd dispelled the temporary tomb encapsulating the defunct dwarf.

"Oh, thankee, messere," he gasped, teeth chattering loud enough that she could hear them from even her vantage point.

"The chill will pass shortly. Who are you? Tell me what happened," the templar said. It wasn't an inquiry, but a demand. His lilting tone came off stern, bordering on harsh—it certainly was anything but comforting despite the rescue he affected.

"Thieving mage."

Siobhán rolled her eyes and tried not to exhale too loudly even though she just wanted to wring his neck before he had the chance to spew the lies she knew were about to fall from the questionable merchant's lips.

"You can call me Sanak Vora. I'm a humble merchant." The dwarf's tone turned genteel, as if he were on the verge of tears.

 _Andraste's flaming knickers_ , Siobhán thought. She crouched above them, leaning just past the edge. A dangerous choice to be sure, but her curiosity and sense of self-preservation won out over her fear of falling.

"I was traveling home."

"You live in Darktown?" the templar asked, his tone taking on a note of skepticism.

"By the stone, no. I was just passing through. It's quicker you see," Sanak said without really explaining how that might be possible. Darktown wasn't a shortcut to anywhere in the city, but it was a way to move from one side of Kirkwall to the other without the scrutiny or suspicion of the city guards. "I always keep my most valuable goods on me, you see. And—" The dwarf froze for a moment, then started patting his rotund body.

Siobhán pinched the bridge of her nose. An actor Sanak Vora was not, but her contact seemed to be putting on the show of a lifetime. She knew him to be a cheat who preferred not to pay his debts; perhaps, she should have guessed he possessed far more skill as a liar than he ever let on in her presence.

"That vixen!"

 _You bastard!_

When the dwarf looked up at the templar, the mage slinked back into the shadows a little more, but she could have sworn she saw his eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "She took it."

"Took what?" To Siobhán's disbelief, the templar seemed to be buying Sanak's bullshit wholeheartedly.

"All of it." He pulled the cut purse strings from his belt and showed them to the templar. "My purse, my goods. All of it. Oh, my dear wife," he said, a sob threatening to roughen his tone.

"Who was she?"

"I…" He looked around for a moment then back up at the templar. "I—I don't know."

 _First smart damn thing you've said, you shady bastard._ Siobhán knew she'd have to speak with Athenril about this. Why the guild even still worked with Sanak was a mystery to Hawke? He never paid on time, always requested the most outlandish goods. And someone, usually her, always had to collect from him by threat or by force. To Hawke's mind, the risk was not worth the scant reward, even if it was one more customer they had been able to leech from the Coterie.

"You've never seen her before?" the templar asked, his tone rang of suspicion, at least to Siobhán's ear. Of course, that could just be her imagination.

She decided to remain, even though she should perhaps make her escape while her pursuer was distracted; with Sanak impugning her so freely, she needed to make sure he did not give the templar too much information. Of course, by her standards, he already had.

"Of course not. I'm an honest merchant, just trying to provide for my small family—a wife, wee little bairns."

Siobhán chomped down on the inside of her lips and covered her mouth with a gloved hand, otherwise she would have choked on laughter.

"Indeed."

She wanted badly to laugh. Clearly, this templar wasn't the fool that Sanak thought he was. Of course, that only served to tighten the tension building between her shoulders. Lingering at the scene was a bad idea, but she could not bring herself to leave.

 **-3-**

In Sebastian's experience, Darktown lived up to its reputation as the seedy underbelly of the city of Kirkwall. In truth, it was a cesspool of poverty and damnation, avoided by most respectable citizens, even the city guard and the templars stationed at the Chantry and the Gallows steered clear, at least most of the time. He himself preferred to avoid the place at all cost, when it could be managed, except when rumors and whispers of a certain sort reached the Gallows.

His captain had assigned him to patrol the dank, dusty corridors and tunnels beneath the city to get to the root of some stories that had trickled through the city of late—tales of mages among the denizens of the shadows down here. Beneath the city, every defensible alcove was packed with bodies, many of them Ferelden refugees from the Blight.

Sebastian had been beginning to feel that this endeavor would bear no fruit, before he saw the mage crouched over her … victim seemed the wrong word. Sebastian knew there was something shady about this Sanak character. But he would not accuse him outright. Dwarves were very caste conscious and could be tetchy about such slights and slander, even with representatives of the Chantry.

"And you're certain you haven't seen her before?" he asked again, brows pulling down over his bright eyes.

"No. Perhaps she saw me in the market, and followed me."

"Perhaps," he agreed, only to keep the dwarf talking in hopes that he might divulge something. "Describe her."

"You saw her." There was a tightness in Sanak's voice as he pushed his back straighter against the wall. It only served to convince Sebastian further that he knew more than he was letting on.

The templar exhaled loudly through his nose. "This mage is a plague on this city. If you assist in her capture, surely the Viscount could compensate you for your assistance." The Order only rarely offered rewards; the Chantry feared that appealing to the greed inside men's hearts presented too much temptation—that it could lead to more false accusations of magic or worse. But that didn't mean that the city might not pay out a meager reward to get this vermin off the streets.

Sanak's beady eyes rose to Sebastian's face once more, and the templar knew he had hooked him. "Well, she had light eyes and dark hair. Very ominous," he said. "She was tall, even for your folk. Had quite an ample bosom though. All in all, rather fine-looking woman."

Sebastian blinked, holding his eyes closed for a moment so as not to show his irritation and impatience. "What of her voice? Was she a Marcher?"

"Nay. Ferelden, I'd guess by that, _and_ the smell of hound and leather."

The templar nodded. "Anything else."

"Aye, she said I'd regret this." Sanak shivered, his thick hands rubbing at his upper arms as if to warm himself more quickly.

Sebastian knew the spell she'd cast on him, experienced that chill to the bone it left a person with. He'd felt like he couldn't get warm for an entire week after a mage cast that spell on him. "Regret what?"

"Meeting her, I'd say. If I had to fathom a guess."

"And that's all?" Sebastian stared at the merchant. "Nothing else?" he prompted after a long silence.

Sanak shook his head, cracked lips pursing under his bushy facial hair. "Not that I can recall."

The templar pushed himself to his feet and loomed over the dwarf. "If you learn anything more, come find me at the Gallows."

"And who should I ask for?"

"Just give them your name and the information will get to me," Sebastian stated. The last thing he wanted was for this dwarf to come looking for him with every rumor of magic in the shadows. Nor did he want him to sell it to the mage who'd assaulted and robbed him.

Sebastian gave the area another once over, hoping something might stand out, but nothing did, so he returned to his patrol. All the while his mind raced, replaying every moment of that encounter. The way he just stared at her when he felt the magic shimmer through the air. How he'd frozen when she made the jump he'd intended to take to head her off—and the look on her face afterward, that wink. Sanak Vora had been truthful about one thing … she certainly was a bonny lass.

Sebastian pulled his shoulders back, running one hand over his armor. His fingertips traced the flaming cross emblazoned on the breastplate. It was more than just a symbol of his vocation. His father had the shining white suit of armor crafted especially for him, and presented it on the day Sebastian sat his vigil, when he finally became a Knight of the Order. It reminded him of his place, his duty—chosen or not.

Feeling those flames beneath his fingertips, reminded him that no matter how lovely she might be she was a mage and she was a menace. He would catch her, and he would see her confined to the Circle where her danger could be evaluated and contained.


	2. Fueled by Determination

**Summary:** Sebastian refuses to allow his quarry to escape. He dives into his investigation, centering his attentions on Sanak Vora, the dwarf attacked in Darktown. He learns that the victim likely was not as innocent as he portrayed himself to be. At the same time, he learns that the maleficar he's bound and determined to capture is not quite the fiend he would prefer her to be.

 **a/n:** In this AU, Sebastian was invested with the Templars rather than the Chantry. Upon his vigil he made a chivalric oath along with his oath of loyalty and service. Thank to joufancyhuh for the idea that sparked this endeavor, slow going as it has been.

 **Fueled by Determination**

Beginning the next day, Sebastian's investigation continued in earnest. His pride refused to allow him to turn in what he felt to be an incomplete report, as well as one that announced that he allowed her to escape. He still could not explain his shock at her brazenness or his frustration at her show of clever resolve in her escape.

He found Sanak Vora's stall in the Hightown Merchant District easily. To no surprise, he did not hide himself, but made quite a spectacle, hawking loudly at customers as they walked by, darting over to maidens with a fine example of his wares in order to tempt them to view more. Other times he stood on a crate while calling out to the crowd at large and making enticing promises.

The templar maintained a bit of distance, milling about the market in some moments and watching from an alcove on a balcony above. It was all in hopes that he might draw his attacker's attention again, at least that was the hope. But as the days crept onward, the only questionable behavior Sebastian witnessed was the dwarf's own. Whispered conversations with clients that came to him specifically, making a beeline for his stall, where muttered conversations suggested connections of a less than reputable nature, who could secure specialty items.

Sometimes his presence at another stall in the marketplace was enough to deter those who might be drawn in by Sanak's promises of exotic goods. Cautious eyes darting about for the least sign of authority, when they landed on the flaming sword emblazoned on his armor, often widened. Some stammered and stumbled as they backpedaled away from the deal, others were more collected-merely clearing their throats and suggesting that a person of their social stature bore no interest in items of such questionable heritage.

Sebastian knew better, of course, his childhood in Starkhaven showed him some of the darker sides of the upper classes, their grasping and backstabbing. He knew his presence, his witnessing their misstep to be the only deterrent to their filling Vora's pocket with coin for whatever delicacy tempted their greedy palates. Either way, this behavior did the templar little good. The thought of wrongdoing lay far from the commitment of an act.

Over the next day, he watched from afar, withdrawing to spots less noticeable in hope that another noble or someone of the upper classes would approach Sanak Vora and take him up on one of his shady deals. Sebastian knew the guilty tended to be more forthcoming with information when they feared the exposure of their shortcomings. Especially when such revelations were made public for one's friends and enemies alike to behold.

Like others before him, a young dandy approached the stall, eyes darting to and fro, but he did not need to be tempted to the stall. Sebastian had come to notice the signs of a repeat customer in his observance. The templar straightened slightly, prepared to follow once the exchange was made. This man, like most of the customers in this district did not travel in the same circles as the merchant, nor was he likely to socialize with an apostate mage. Still he could potentially offer useful insight into Sanak's disreputable associates.

The fop bent to whisper to the dwarf, who nodded as a sly smile curled across his lips. That reaction cemented Sebastian's plans in his mind. A small leather pouch, cupped in a gloved palm, slipped into the thick, grubby hands of the merchant, who pocketed it quickly.

Straightening once more, his back arching to allow him to almost literally raise his nose above all those around him, the customer strolled through the market. Sebastian peeked around the corner, watching him climb the stair and allowing him to surpass the halfway mark before he fell in step a distance behind him. The turned a few corners in Hightown, this tailored man nodding and tipping his cap to every pretty young woman.

As they neared the Blooming Rose, Sebastian made his move, confident that he understood the man's appetites and how the templar could impress upon him for his cooperation. His longer strides over took those of Sanak's customer easily.

"Pardon me, ser," Sebastian said by way of greeting.

The man harrumphed before deigning to even shift his gaze toward the man addressing him. Once he did, his brown eyes widened. "Ser Knight," he replied, actually offering Sebastian an almost polite nod.

"May I have a moment?"

His eyes darted around the courtyard like a cornered animal. "Certainly," he replied with a shake of his head as he threaded his spindly arms across his wiry chest.

"The merchant you were speaking to in the market."

"I believe you have me confused with someone else." His voice held that highborn air of privilege, the one that suggested that whatever he said should be believed as truth simply because he said it.

Sebastian knew it far too well, and in his own opinion, wielded it with far more skill than this fonkin1. "I possess neither the time nor patience for this squiddling2," Sebastian warned. The man's jaw dropped like he might have more to say. "Did the purse you handed him bear your seal?"

Confident in the answer, the templar tugged at glove on his hand without even looking at the man. As the silence grew pregnant between them, his keen aquamarine eyes flashed back to the man. "He is associating with mages, apostates. You do realize the seriousness of that matter, do you not, ser …?"

"Maximillian Fink," he announced, then made a deep, courtly bow. As if that act of politeness might ease Vael's interrogation. Sebastian found the name entirely befitting of the whiteliver3. "How might I assist you and your order?"

His tone reminded him of the sycophants in Starkhaven's court. The ones who tried to make themselves useful in order to ingratiate themselves for favor and the perception of connection. "What is he procuring for you?"

"Oh, nothing really." He waved his hand limply in the air between them. Sebastian's gaze hardened. Fink's lips pursed. "I'm a … _busy_ man." The flash of the man's brow and the shifty way his eyes darted toward some of the young ladies exiting the brothel spoke volumes to Sebastian. "Sanak might be a distasteful little man, but he is discrete. And has a vast network of contacts."

"You know them?" Sebastian asked, chomping at the bit.

"I know of them," Fink let his hand fall delicately upon his chest just below the flamboyant bow of his silk tie.

"Enlighten me."

Maximillian gave the templar a pained look, as if silently begging the man not to make him say it. But that was part of the point, Sebastian wanted him to say it. Wanted him to admit his awareness of the wrongdoing committed in his efforts to keep his cock hard and his blood untainted by disease.

"He has contacts in the docks, or so he told me. Sailors, or so I assumed. People that are overlooked, who can make something disappear from the hold of a ship here and there."

Fink turned out to be more useful than Sebastian expected, and as their exchange lengthened the man's nervousness intensified, as did his willingness to be forthcoming. Sebastian finally allowed him to continue on his way, returning to the market in time to watch Sanak and several other of the merchants pack up.

Half a week later, Sanak Vora set up in Lowtown selling tonics of indeterminate origin and other strange items to Ferelden refugees. In a matter of hours, one of the dwarf's competitors approached the spying templar.

"Oi, Fella. Who you peeking on? Tell me someone's finally going to arrest that crooked nosed knave4," she mused as she approached Sebastian where he leaned against a corner that offered him some semblance of camouflage. By her accent, he knew she was a refuge, one of the Fereldens, perhaps among the first who actually made it into the city before they started holding them at the Gallows and turning them away.

"You know Sanak Vora?" The templar asked, straightening to his full height.

"Well, you're a big one, ain't ya?" Her gaze travelled his full height—it was neither innocent nor lusty, but curious. Or so Sebastian surmised.

He ignored the question. "Can you tell me anything about him?" he asked, tipping his head toward the corner again.

"Aye," she said, wiping her thick hands on her apron, which bore streaks of flour.

His eyes darted past her, noticing a small stall covered with breads and cakes and biscuits. In that instant, he realized he knew the backstress5; well, he'd sampled her wares more than once though he never once asked her name. An oversight he rather regretted at the moment. The ability to show some association with her might just prove a boon to the conversation he sought.

"What do you want to know about the stinking canker?"

"He certainly seems to have angered you. What happened?"

"He's a thief and a cheat. He told me once he could get me fresh spices from back home and from Rivain. Sold me damnable dried weeds and muck. Ruined a whole batch of breads and cakes. The grimy bugger is a cocklorel6, a liar, and a fraud. And if you made the mistake of buying from him, good luck getting your coin back," she added, shaking a scolding finger at him. Then suddenly her pointed finger flew off to the side in a furious gesture. "When the bastard does have coin, he gambles it all away. Fat-kidneyed7 codpiece8," she mumbled with a shake of her head as she stared daggers at the dwarf.

Through her diatribe, Sebastian struggled to keep a straight face. And while he didn't know some of the terms she chose, she could guess the intent behind them. "I see," he finally replied, stifling a laugh with a quick cough behind his hand. "And do you know any of his associates?"

"Crooks, anglers9, driggers10, apple-squires11, and louts. The lot of them." Her hand waved through the air rather dismissively.

"Have you ever seen him associate with any women?"

"Doubt any woman with a lick a sense would have anything to do with him," she said. Her knuckles planted on her hips as her measuring gaze returned to him.

"To be sure." Sebastian huffed a laugh of agreement. "But what about a rather tall woman." He held his hand up to about the height he estimated the mage he sought was. "Dark hair, striking eyes."

With a narrowing of her eyes, the woman's countenance shifted from irritation to something far more cautious. "No, I can't recall ever having seen someone like that with Sanak. He's a scoundrel."

"Indeed. But are you certain?" His gaze traveled over her face, picking up on the way she blinked at him.

She turned toward her stall, noticing customers milling about. A young lady, who he presumed to be her daughter assisted them. "No. Never seen anyone like that with Sanak. And if I did I'd warn her off, same as I did you. Now, if you've nothing else, I need to get back."

"Of course," he said with a polite bow. "You have my thanks."

Her responses to his question about the mage he sought piqued his interest. He knew there was more there just waiting for him to discover it. Throughout the rest of that day and several others, Sebastian waylaid customers and associates of the dwarf. Some he leaned on, others opened up more conversationally. Eventually, he learned that indeed, Sanak Vora did have dealings with a woman matching the description of the mage he claimed had robbed and attacked him without provocation.

The templar also discovered the dwarf regularly dealt with the Kirkwall smugglers guild, which seemed to be pushing the Coterie out of the port city. That in itself created tensions between the organizations, a fact that the order had been apprised of months earlier.

It took little deliberation to realize that his victim and witness was not what he presented himself to be and that this mage might well have had cause for her actions. Despite that, she still resorted to magic to achieve retribution. The danger shone clear to Sebastian. Justified or not, the mage's actions were unconscionable. She, like all her kith, were best off interred in the Circles, which ensured the safety of mages and Thedas.

Having learned some of her connections, Sebastian eventually decided to approach one of his own resources for information in Kirkwall's underworld. He had not approached the boy, Pryce, before because he tended to be tight lipped and with good reason. To get anything out of him, the templar knew he would have to have something to exchange or enough information of his own in order to pry anything useful from the urchin. Knowing that Pryce maintained a relationship with Kirkwall's smuggler groups afforded Sebastian a note of confidence in his search for this rogue mage.

Skulking through Darktown, Sebastian slipped through a series of thin tunnels until he found the alcove he sought. He ducked through the small opening to find the room in more disorder than usual. Two dusty-faced girls sat cuddled together in a corner, hugging one another. Upon taking another step, Sebastian froze when something sharp pressed near one his kidneys.

"You'd think you'd have learned not to just walk into places down here, Templar," Pryce hissed. With a shake of his head, he rounded the man and set back to his task. The boy picked up items here and there, tossing them toward the bed or into an empty corner.

"What's going on, Pryce?" Sebastian's eyes skimmed the squalid space.

"I'm leaving. We're leaving," he said, gesturing between he and his sisters

Sebastian's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"I almost died. That's what happened."

He took a moment to process the situation. A small ornate chest rested in the center of the pile of blankets that made up beds for he and his sisters. The girls looked sleepy, like they'd been woken upon his return from his experience, and there was a fear in the older one's eyes. Sebastian reached out and grabbed Pryce's arm. "Tell me what happened. I can help."

The boy snorted derisively. "Yeah, sure. You can help. Fecking templars, you're almost as bad as the damn priestesses, you are." He yanked his arm free and stared daggers at Sebastian, then stepped toward him, his volume lowering as he confided something he clearly didn't want his sisters to overhear. "I crossed the Coterie and Athenril. I'll be lucky if I can even manage to take her advice and get out of Kirkwall."

"Whose advice?" Sebastian asked, suspicions rising to the surface of his mind

"Athenril's ma—" Pryce froze, staring at the man. "Her main agent," he corrected.

"You know her?"

The boy snatched up scraps of clothing from here and there and stuffed them into the threadbare bag he hurriedly packed. "Not really."

"Don't lie to me, Pryce," the templar cautioned. Since first spotting Pryce, the two of them had developed a fairly equitable and trusting relationship, but at this moment it unraveled.

Pryce jammed a small furry toy into the bag, his hands dropping to his sides. The look on his face reminded Sebastian that as clever and capable as his rough life forced him to be, Pryce was still just a young boy. "I can't tell you the truth," he explained, shoulders slumping.

"Why?'

"They say she hunts you in your dreams." The words came out just above a whisper and real fear flashed in his big brown eyes. "I can't," he said again, glancing at his younger sisters, "won't take that chance."

Sebastian understood his concern. Somehow young Pryce managed to provide for his sisters all on his own, while managing to keep them safer than Sebastian ever expected possible. The templar helped from time to time when he could with food, or a bit of extra coin. But Pryce often refused handouts, preferring to earn whatever favor Sebastian tried to extend. He always came up with something, learning quickly that too easy a job would end in Pryce determining what was worth the trade on his own.

Still, the boy's explanation disturbed the templar; he'd heard tale of mages who could enter the Fade and manipulate it. Even kill people in their dreams, but he'd never actually heard of them existing outside of lore, let alone met one. His own life cemented his doubt. If she could truly accomplish something of this nature, would she have not wielded it against a templar seeking her? _Surely, she must sense me at her heels_ , he thought,

"That is not possible," Sebastian replied finally.

"Tell that to all the men she's driven mad."

"Name one."

Pryce stared up at him, almost put out that the templar asked a question he clearly never had. "I don't know," the boy relented, "but I believe it. Especially now."

Sebastian's brow creased between his eyes. "What happened?"

The boy plopped onto the bedroll with a huff. "I … I did something foolish."

The templar remained silent as he waited for the tale of what drove Pryce to this desperate point.

"I'm not picky about jobs. It doesn't usually get me in trouble, but tonight I ended up in a bad spot. I overheard something on the docks, shared it with someone else. And I'm pretty sure that both Athenril and the Coterie planned on killing me tonight."

"Pryce." There was sympathy in his voice when he said the boy's name, but the young urchin just wrinkled his nose.

"I got there before the exchange. I was going to just lift a few items from the trunk and disappear."

Sebastian refrained from judgement and maintained his silence, waiting for the boy to continue.

"Next thing I know, these four shadows from the Coterie are bearing down on me. Then there's another figure. Cloaked and running at us." His wide eyes met Sebastian's, as he admitted, "I've never seen lightning like that. The crackle of it." Pryce shivered.

"This is why I need to know who she is."

"You don't understand, Sebastian. She saved me."

The templar's eyes went wide.

"The Coterie came for me. Athenril sent her for the goods. She took them out. And she let me keep the chest," Pryce revealed, seemingly without considering his words first. He typically did not make such admissions from the templar. "She told me to take my sisters and leave the city."

"Did she?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "She did. Clearly, it's my only choice. Because if Athenril's main agent let me go, let me leave with the treasure she was sent for …" Pryce shook his head, glancing over at his sisters. "I'm pretty sure my life is forfeit here. I can't risk staying any longer."

"Sounds like you might be right."

"Which is why we're leaving."

"If you give me a name, I can intervene," Sebastian tried.

Pryce scoffed. "You've got no pull with the smugglers."

"Perhaps not, but I can remove this mage from Athenril's employ."

"That'll just piss her off more."

Sebastian's frustration began to reach its peak. He reached out and touched Pryce's shoulder, stilling the boy's renewed packing. "All I need is a name," he said, hoping.

He got no reply, the lanky child returning to his task, gathering the few possessions in their little Darktown hideaway and stuffing them into his sack. Clearly, hesitation remained in the boy.

"I can get you and your sisters out of the city tonight," he finally said, desperation setting in. This was the first solid lead to the identity of that rogue mage since she escaped him in tunnels. He wasn't about to let her slip through his fingers again.

Pryce looked from the crouching templar to his sisters and back again. "Fine. But only after we're out."

 _Clever boy._

"I'll return shortly. Stay safe." Sebastian pushed himself back to his feet and made his way out of Darktown. The arrangements were made rather easily; with his family name, vocation, and purse, he was able to secure a carriage and a driver of trustworthy reputation. Within an hour, he returned to Pryce's little nook in Darktown and escorted he and his sisters to the gates of the tiered city.

"Where are we going?" one of the girls asked when she saw the horse and carriage.

Pryce looked up at the templar, not knowing the answer himself. "Starkhaven," he told them. "I have family there. I sent a message ahead to my sister. She's expecting you. She'll help you get settled there." The last bit he directed right to Pryce.

"That's more than we agreed upon."

"Well, then you can take that up with my sister if you truly feel the need to even the score." Sebastian set the youngest girl into the carriage. She jumped up and down a few times before scrambling into one of the cushioned seats. He did the same with Pryce's other sister, who more calmly took her seat. Holding open the door, he merely offered the young boy his hand for stability, guessing correctly that Pryce would not wish to be lifted into the carriage.

Once Pryce was aboard, he closed the door, not removing his hand as he waited. His patience and generosity were rewarded when the boy leaned through the door and whispered a single word in his ear. "Hawke."

His quarry bore a fitting name, Sebastian thought. He gave Pryce a nod, then pounded the side of his fist on the rear of the carriage. "No stops," he called out to the driver as a reminder.

At least now he had more than a description to go on. People might be more open to divulging information with this stroke of familiarity added to his inquiries. He stared after the carriage until it passed out of sight. Only the driver's lantern broke the sheet of darkness covering the countryside. The trip to Starkhaven was never an easy one; still he did worry for the safety of their journey away from the Wounded Coast. The area around Kirkwall teemed with the unruly for the past year or so, ever since the arrival of the first refugees from the Blight in Ferelden.

Sebastian fought to reconcile what he had seen with all the things Pryce divulged in their conversation. While at first he wanted to believe the claim that she could walk dreams, he understood it to be a lost talent, presumed to be only legend by the more reasonable citizens of Thedas. Though rumors and fear of mages ran deep in the masses.

His patrol carried him back through the city and into its shadowy underbelly. Since first encountering the mage-Hawke, he reminded himself-many of his patrols led him into the dusty twisting tunnels of Darktown. Like most of those nights, his search that evening came up empty as well. He stopped at the crossroads where he lost her that first night. Crouching he studied the dirt, which bore the signs of dozens and dozens of footprints, large and small, crisscrossing and covering one another. Confirming his suspicions did little to settle his mind. Huffing a breath through his nose, he stood once more and made his way out of the tunnels and back to the Gallows, comforted in his intent to renew his search on the morrow with his new information.

His mind continued to weigh the information he gathered and received thus far. He found that he placed this mage, Hawke, on a balance. Each plate of the scale holding evidence and information he managed to scrape together to help him find her, but also to help him understand. Currently, the question that ground the gears of his brain centered around why a mage, who would attack a merchant and relieve him of his possessions, save a child that betrayed her organization and then allow him to take the treasure and advise him to escape the city. The benevolent savior Pryce described did not mesh with the thieving maleficar he'd seen looming over her frozen victim in Darktown.

The full moon sparkled upon the rippling surface of the water, which lapped at the foundations of the ancient Tevinter structure. Massive bronze statues, bearing chains, loomed over him like silent specters of an empire past. His footsteps barely sounded against the marble stone stairs.

In quieter moments, when he allowed himself to be blatantly honest, he started to doubt the veracity of the shivering dwarf's story based on things he saw and learned, both in Lowtown and in the merchant quarter of Hightown. Perhaps Sanak Vora expected Sebastian would not inquire beyond their interview, or perhaps the sketchy merchant just saw a chance to embarrass the templars. Whatever his reasons, the dwarf's reputation lightened the impact of his testimony, though not Sebastian's determination to bring this Hawke to heel.

Her face haunted him, even in his sleep—that first encounter, the chase, her escape. Now, new conjured images played in his unconscious brain, those that fit Pryce's description of his rescue and her generosity toward the urchin. To say the least it made his investigation more complicated. Thrusting him into a mindset he had never experienced in terms of mages—uncertainty.

1 Little fool

2 Squiddle: to waste time with idle talk

3 Coward

4 An unclassy, poor, low class, uneducated asshole

5 Female baker

6 Cheat/cheating fellow

7 Stupid

8 Testicle

9 A thief who uses a hook on a line

10 A thief

11 Pimps


	3. Scurrying in the Shadows

**Summary:** After leaving Athenril's employ, Hawke's level of risk rises along with the potential for reward, after she makes Varric Tethras' acquaintance. An attempt to locate information on the Deep Roads leads the Siobhán flitting about to avoid the cat in Templar armor.

 **a/n:** In this AU, Sebastian was invested with the Templars rather than the Chantry. Upon his vigil he made a chivalric oath along with his oath of loyalty and service. Thank to joufancyhuh for the idea that sparked this endeavor, slow going as it has been.

 **Scurrying in the Shadows**

Her laughter bubbled around her, fading into the encroaching sounds of trade as they neared the marketplace in Lowtown. It wasn't lost on her that the markets in this part of the city were near the entrance to the more prosperous neighborhoods. While some of the merchants were actually residents of lower districts and dock areas of Kirkwall, most of the merchants trekked from Hightown into the meaner parts of the city, and they, it seemed, didn't want to delve too far into the neighborhoods of those they treated as beneath them. A few of the merchants happened to be Hawke's own countrymen, Fereldener's like herself who managed to escape the march of the darkspawn and scrape up some semblance of a life in the Free Marches.

Most of the refugees from the Blight struggled, some more than others. Siobhán, in a glance around Lowtown on any given day could see the spectrum. The denizens of Darktown that milled about with their hands out, or in someone else's pockets. The merchants who managed to cobble together a life here even though Kirkwall did everything it could to push them out. They were all fighting their own battles. Even she and her family.

She and her siblings signed over their bodies and their lives for the chance to get inside the gates, to share space upon the drafty floor of a house that crumbled around them. But even in that contract there had been some measure of security. It was the only time in her life when Siobhán could remember not having to fear every whisper about templars. Of course, those days were no more, and the wariness of childhood returned full force.

The Hawke children all shared their mother's dream of remaking a home for themselves here in the land from which she hailed, but the eldest daughter, despite her work toward that goal, worried it might never come to fruition. In the past weeks, Siobhán Hawke spent her time chasing rumors and snatching every note asking for a pair of able hands from any board or post in the City of Chains. So far, she'd managed to scrape up better than a tenth of the buy-in she needed for Bartram's endeavor into the Deep Roads.

Every coin that came out of that horde for food or wares stung and set her that much further back, but they had to eat. Even Uncle Gamlen, whose only contribution to his sister's family had been his big mouth and shady connections. He got them into the city though. They had a roof. And the eldest Hawke child possessed the drive to change the situation for her mother and siblings. If it was the only thing she accomplished in her life, she'd do what she promised her father—she'd take care of them.

Rumors of work led her toward a small general store run by a fellow refugee. It was located not far off the square at the base of the stairs separating the dustier part of Kirkwall from Hightown. She walked with purpose, skipping up the stairs and ignoring the crack in the sole of her shoe as she neared the corner. When she rounded the building, a glint caught her eye.

"Maker's bollocks," she muttered. The stark white pauldrons gleamed in the afternoon sun and his auburn hair gleamed with strands of fire. She didn't need to see his face or those striking eyes to recognize _that_ templar. He'd been nipping at her heels like a rabid dog since before her contract concluded.

She turned on her heel and marched back through her own footsteps, opening her arms to intercept her compatriots.

"Sister?" Bethany asked in that tone that bordered on whiny.

Siobhán just turned her younger sister by the shoulders and all but pushed her back down the stairs they had just climbed.

"What the hell are you on about?" Varric asked, clearly confused.

Glancing over her shoulder, she cast a quick glare at the dwarf, who stood there at the top of the steps with his arms out. If he didn't move his ass, he might just give away her attempted retreat.

With a sigh, Siobhán rolled her eyes and said the word she knew would make her sibling cringe. "Templars." It seemed the word worked on Varric's objections as well as it did her sister's. Neither of them put up an argument as she steered them onto a side street.

In truth, she'd only seen a single templar. But usually where there was one, there were many. And even if he was alone, this particular Chantry knight was more than enough trouble, and determined as hell. According to her sources, he had been asking far too many questions for her own good. While she'd been with Athenril that had been fine, but she finished her contracted time and turned down the offered extension, which left her without protection from the arm of the Chantry bent on caging people like her and her sister.

Once again, Siobhán found herself wondering if she shouldn't have given a little more thought to remaining in the now fairly successful smuggler's guild. But in the end, she knew there was no future in that route, even if the money for her service might trickle into her own pockets this time around.

As they moved through the street, she threw an occasional glance over her shoulder. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten this close to her either, physically or figuratively. His doggedness only made that fifty-gold buy-in to the Tethras endeavor seem farther out of her grasp.

Away from the market Varric spoke up again. "So, we're just going to sit around and waste another day, rather than find this healer?"

"No," Siobhán admitted. "Just need to get Bethany home."

Her sister stopped cold. "What?" she shrieked, turning on the spot.

"No back talk. Move."

"You can't be serious."

"As the revered mother," Siobhán replied, placing her hand on her sister's back and giving it a gentle nudge to encourage her to move onward.

"I'm not some child," Bethany huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Siobhán rolled her eyes, sighing through her nose, before she leveled a sharp gaze on her younger sister. "We end up in the bloody Circle, and there ain't no point to none of this."

Bethany huffed at her, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping down the street. Siobhán glanced at Varric, who just shrugged and followed the younger mage. The elder Hawke child brought up the rear with another sigh. She knew she'd never hear the end of this, and fully expected that when she did return home that both Bethany and Carver would be in wonderful moods after an afternoon spent ruminating on how unfair their older sister could be. The twins harbored a knack for commiserating about their sister's cruelty and unfairness.

Even knowing what the future held didn't faze her, nor did Bethany's pout, which became more prominent with every step toward their Uncle Gamlen's hovel. At the stairs leading to their door, her sister turned on her, wearing a petulant look Siobhán had not seen in years. She raised her brow, waiting the tantrum.

"You're going without me, aren't you?" Bethany said, as if it were an accusation of cruelty or wrongdoing.

 _There it was._ Sometimes she hated being right. "Aye. We don't have time to fanny about."

"I wanted to meet him."

"Another day."

"That's what you always say, but it never happens," Bethany barked, then turned with a whip of her hair and stomped up the stairs. "You're so unfair." For good measure, she slammed the door behind her when she entered the house.

"Kind of makes me glad I'm the younger brother," Varric mused, leaning on the railing as he examined the nail of his middle finger.

"Aye," Siobhán said.

Everything in one's life came down to a decision—this one came down to "good" daughter or "good" sister. Of course, to her own mind, her decision positioned her as both, by not exposing her sister to the same danger lurking about with an eye for her. Neither Bethany nor Carver would ever see it that way, but she learned long ago that she could do little to nothing about their opinion on her.

She shook her head clear. Dwelling on what was probably happening in that house would not help her, besides, if she had any hope of helping this expedition, they needed to find this healer—sooner rather than later.

"So, you always turn tail when you see a templar?" her companion asked.

"Not always."

Varric hummed, a thoughtful sound, but he said nothing more until they neared the market once more. Siobhán knew how to use her surroundings to her advantage, slipping through stalls and shadowing people who outstripped her in terms of size.

"Hawke?" Varric asked, as she stepped beside a stall and raised a swath of fabric as if inspecting it.

"Hmm," she replied, tearing her eyes away from the crowd for a moment.

His broad brow drew together over golden brown eyes as he studied her.

"What?" she asked.

"You looking to make a new dress?"

She smirked at him, shifting back a few inches when she saw a flash of white glimmering in the sunshine. Varric's lips thinned, his head turning to catch a glimpse of what she noticed. "What are you—?"

"Wouldn't've been a decent smuggler if I walked like a qunari in tap shoes, now would I?" she said.

"Touché."

Her gaze darted about the square. Noting a rotund man approaching, Hawke stepped out behind him. She followed closely until he turned in the direction she'd seen the templar last.

"So, why did that templar get you all jumpy earlier?"

"I weren't jumpy."

"If I knew you better, I would say you're turning tail and running."

Her eyes narrowed, all joviality drained from her body. "You're right. You don't bloody know me. So, save your damn judgments."

"Then explain it to me. Or you could be an ass," Varric muttered as Siobhán slipped into the crowd once more.

Her start and stop pace through the people browsing and shopping in the market finally got her to the door of the shop where their contact directed them. The shopkeeper proved easy enough to appease. In fact, Hawke's thick accent, for once, managed to do most of the work for her. She slipped back out the door blindly after learning where in the city the healer had established himself. It would have raised more than just Varric's brow if she peeked through the door until she found someone to blockade her.

Knowing the area, however, proved advantageous. She pulled the door open, the bell above it jiggling gently, then she moved through the crowd slipping back down the steps quickly and into an alley. Once out of sight again, she unfurled herself back to her full height, straightening her broad shoulders.

"What's going on?" Varric asked, grabbing her wrist. "I might be able to help."

"Aye, you can and are. Fifty gold and I'm out of their reach again."

"Look, Hawke, I get it. You keep your own counsel. But I know people in this town."

She sighed and leaned against the wall, the warmth from the sun seeped from the brick through her cloak. "A week before me contract ended, I nearly got pinched."

"By a templar?"

"No, by a lusty maid who got turned around in Darktown. Aye, a bleeding templar. He's a right persistent wanker. Keeps popping up every time I turn around." A grin slipped across Siobhán's face. "Truth? I think he's right pissed that I gave 'im the slip."

"Oh, really?" Varric's voice sounded more calculating than interested as she told her tale.

"Beat 'im at his own game, so to speak." She sighed and tipped her head toward the alley that would take them to one of the Darktown entrances. "I went down there to collect a debt from Sanak Vora."

"Say no more."

His response made her laugh. "He pushed me buttons. I _may_ have overreacted. _Slightly_ ," she said with a crooked grin. "But damned if that bastard didn't pick that moment to walk by. And there I was, crouched over Sanak counting out what he owed the guild."

"I'm guessing you took off."

A rather unladylike snort vibrated through her sinuses. "Aye. Seemed to shock 'im. But I wasn't about to stop. He pulled out a bow, and who pulls out one of those that isn't damn good with it?"

"No one," Varric agreed.

She nodded in agreement with his reply, it rather felt like a confirmation of her choice. "I finally got away, wiped my tracks. But he didn't give up and walk away. He thawed Sanak and asked that rank bastard a dozen questions. Thankfully, he was smart enough to not be too forthcoming. But according to some old friends, this bonny templar's been asking about." She skipped down a handful of steps and pushed open a rickety door. "Last I heard, he knows my name."

"That's not good."

"Worse, I don't know how he bloody well got it."

"Sounds like a problem."

Siobhán's rough laugh clung to her throat. "He's not an issue."

"Seems like it from what I saw in the market."

"Caution does not equal threat," she corrected with a more serious tone. "So, he finally figured out I'm called Hawke. That took him near on two months. At this rate, we'll be in the Deep Roads before he gets even another step closer."

"I hope you're right. We don't really have time for cat and mouse games with the Chantry."

"No, we don't." Siobhán stopped after passing over a wooden trestle that crossed a gap in the tunnels of Darktown. They stared at the wall before them, golden light peeked through the boards of hastily constructed walls. She glanced around them. "Pretty sure this is the spot."

Varric shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

The pair shuffled across the dusty courtyard-like space, the wind whistling through the open cliff face whipped about them and snapped the loose edges of their clothes against their bodies. Her cloak wrapped around her in an awkward and confining way, which left her tangling it around one arm to get it under control. She pushed the door open, leaning forward a bit to hold it open for Varric.

Makeshift cots stood in rows in the center of the room; bedrolls lined the walls. At the back of the room, a rather disheveled looking man leaned over an ill child surrounded by his parents, or so she presumed. She stood there near the entrance watching. His hands glowed, and a mist seemed to rise from the still form on the cot.

Siobhán recognized it as the spirit school of magic but as for the particular spell, that she could not be certain of. The healer gritted his teeth and poured more of his energy and focus into his attempt to save the boy—perhaps too much, she guessed. The boy gasped, while the blonde man nearly collapsed. The mother cried and gushed over her child, helping him to his feet and crossing the room hugging him repeatedly and cradling his head to her chest.

A huff passed Hawke's lips as she crossed the room to where the mage leaned. She barely got within ten feet of him when he turned, grabbing up his staff. "I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?" he said, holding out his hand, clearly prepared to do more than warn her off.

"Got a real nose of waxi, don't you mate?" she asked.

Varric tensed up beside her, not that he hadn't been on edge since they walked into Darktown.

"We're not looking for a brangle.ii I just need to know about the Deep Roads. And rumor has it you can help with that," Hawke revealed. The healer settled a little at that, then accused them of working with the Wardens. It took a little to get him back around to the subject she cared about, but, like everyone else in that Maker forsaken city, this one refused to speak meaningfully until they struck a bargain.

"A favor for a favor," he called it.

But she'd agreed even before he laid it out fully. _What other choice had she?_

The door clattered in the jamb behind them. Her mind racing over this plan the healer—Anders, she reminded herself—shared with them. Playing in the Chantry at night, secreting a mage out of the city, potentially going toe to toe with Templars. She wasn't in a position to pass it over. She needed what he had, which meant she'd do what he asked, no matter how harebrained the scheme.

"That's a hell of a favor, Hawke," Varric opined, his words cutting through her racing thoughts.

"Aye," she agreed.

"So, we're going to piss up the Templar's rope when you've already got one on your ass?"

"Beggars can't be choosers. And that map could prove incredibly useful."

"True. But not sure the wrath of the Knight-Commander and her fashionable entourage will make things any easier."

"Then they'll be harder," she said, characteristically leaving the H off the last word. "Not like the Deep Roads will be a walk through the market."

"You do have a point."

Siobhán glanced over at Varric after their long walk to an exit in silence. "Not a word to Bethany or Carver. Swear it."

"Okay," Varric agreed, throwing up his hands in reply to her serious tone.

She wasn't about to put the twins at this kind of risk, but she also preferred they not find out about it at all. _Besides_ , she thought, _it would upset Mother. Best that none of them know the risks._

i Fickle personality

ii Fight


	4. Larger Problems

**Summary:** The chase continues, but Sebastian's path gets detoured by an unexpected discovery.

 **a/n:** In this AU, Sebastian was invested with the Templars rather than the Chantry. Upon his vigil he made a chivalric oath along with his oath of loyalty and service. Thank to joufancyhuh for the idea that sparked this endeavor, slow going as it has been.

 **Larger Problems**

 **-1-**

Sebastian leaned over, peeking at the selection of fresh fruits on the cart near the stairs. After paying for a beauteous red apple, he straightened, letting his eyes skim the crowd. His hand stopped halfway to his mouth when he noticed a woman across the market spin. Her chestnut hair whipped around her, landing on her shoulders, as she glanced at a rather strapping dark-haired fellow who walked with her. Her head fell back in a laugh that seemed to carry over the crowd.

Her pale eyes started his heart to racing. _It's her. Finally!_ He tucked himself out of sight until they passed by him. When someone bumped into him, he glanced to his right. He could not make his move here—in Lowtown, in a market teeming with Ferelden refugees—the odds were weighted against him here. Despite the righteousness of his cause, she was one of them. He could not predict how the crowd might react, and, so, he opted not to chance it. He could corner her elsewhere, somewhere more favorable.

The tall man whose arm she had touched could serve as his guide, he guessed. His ebony hair stood out and he dwarfed most people in the marketplace. _Yes, he will make a fine mark_. Even so, Sebastian carefully moved toward a clothman's stall. He grabbed up a cloak and quickly threw it around his shoulders, pulling the hood forward over his distinctive auburn waves. Before the proprietor could object, he dropped a few gold pieces in his hand, quieting any argument that might have been travelling toward the man's lips.

The hastily chosen disguise paid off when they reached Hightown, where it became clear that her party was a bit larger than he realized. There was the taller man, a dark-haired girl whose features rather favored his—leading Sebastian to conclude that they might be related—and a dwarf, who Sebastian thought looked familiar to him, though at the moment he could not place him. From a distance, he studied the group, there was a kinship between Hawke and the other two humans, one that felt faintly familiar—they bumped shoulders and pushed one another playfully, laughing and smiling—and led him to conclude that perhaps the trio were family as their dark hair and features might suggest. At the very least, they were well-acquainted.

At each juncture of the journey—in the market, in Hightown, even at the gates of Kirkwall—he weighed his choices, incite a confrontation there or wait. His curiosity piqued when they reached the gates, and rather than enlist the guards in the mage's capture, he decided to blend himself in with a group of travelers who were leaving the city as well.

When the road forked, the party Sebastian had hidden himself among turned south, while Hawke's party moved north in the direction of Sundermount. Sebastian, already committing himself to this path, gave chase, but he kept to the woods now that he was on his own. Despite the rougher terrain, he managed to keep them in sight. Of course, his dogged focus on his target left him less than attentive to his surroundings.

"Hold!" the voice sounding from behind him flushed ice water through Sebastian's veins.

"I'm a templar on Chantry duty," he answered as he complied with the order. His aquamarine eyes fixed on the quartet moving along the winding path.

"I care not."

A second voice joined the first, "And this is Dalish land upon which you are trespassing."

"Maker's beard," Sebastian mumbled to himself, gaze still following his quarry. He would lose them soon if this kept up.

"Place your arms out from your sides and show yourself."

"Can't accomplish both at once," the templar replied.

With marked reluctance, he turned his back on Hawke, regretting his curiosity. He held one arm out to his side as he flipped the hood back with the other hand. Three elves stood across the clearing from him, two with bows ready to fire. Sebastian knew better than to tempt a Dalish into demonstrating their practiced marksmanship. So, he attempted to appeal to their sense of self preservation. "I'm on the trail of a maleficar. A magic user who attacks without impunity. If this is your land, allow me to help you contain this threat."

"If a threat exists, we are more than capable of dealing with it on our own, shem," one of the archers spat in his direction.

"I meant no disrespect," Sebastian stated.

"Your intent does little to alter the result," the unarmed one standing between the archers stated. It was easy for him to gauge the more senior member of the patrol, and thankfully he seemed to be the most even-tempered of the group as well.

 _This is getting me nowhere fast_ , he realized. So, he decided to change his approach. "You are correct. My deepest apologies." He wanted to scream and rave about how they were waylaying the wrong person. While they held him up, under aim, a far more dangerous individual moved deeper into their territory with motives he could only guess at, though he assumed them to be highly questionable.

"I believe your people are apt to say: too little, too late. Please," he stated, gesturing toward a thin path that moved through the forest not far from the road. "And keep your hands out. Or our archers will gladly retaliate."

 _Maker, I have no time for this._ His blood boiled. From time to time in the journey, he caught sight of the road, but, except for once or twice early on in the trek through the woods under guard, he never again caught sight of the mage or any of her associates.

"Look!" he said, stopping and turning toward them. "You can see by my armor I'm not lying. Even your people understand our purpose. I'm not here to harry the Dalish. I seek a human woman."

His entreaty earned no response.

"She's been attacking people in Kirkwall with magic."

Again, his plea met only silence.

"I mean neither you, nor your kind any ill will. But I assure you that Kirkwall might become less hospitable if the Knight-Commander learns of Dalish interference in the hunt for an apostate."

His veiled threat had no time to sink in for any of them, least of all himself. A screeching roar tore through the sky and all eyes turned upward seeking the source. Sebastian's eyes went wide at the sight of childhood stories come to life—a dragon hovered there near the peak of the mountain. The leathery beat of its wings entranced him.

 _This cannot be._ A need to decipher this omen burned in the back of his brain, but his mind froze as still as the heart in his chest as the beast remained there a moment longer. With another bone grinding roar, it gave a mighty flap of its wings, its long neck turning away from the mountain. The body followed with the grace of a practiced dancer, and Sebastian could do nothing but stare as its wings, the color of congealing blood, blotted out the sun. The jagged and angular body, covered in spikes and spurs, retained a serpentine fluidity of movement as it moved through the air with the ease of a butterfly in a blooming spring time meadow, held aloft by those massive wings. Another shout from its sharp dark maw broke the spell of awe that struck him dumb.

Sebastian quickly glanced about him. With his captors fascinated as well, he made the snap decision to take this chance to make his escape. Darting into the brush, he slid down the incline and dashed behind a tree to put some cover between himself and their arrows. Being an archer himself, he utilized that knowledge to make any shots they attempted to make as difficult as possible, though he harbored no assumption that the elven archers might not be as skilled as he was.

"He's escaping," the angry bowman yelled.

"Leave him," the more discerning and calmer one stated.

Even so, Sebastian did not stop running or take his eyes off the terrain before him. He heard a final, more distant cry from the sky, but it soon dissolved to nothing, but the pulse of wing beats overhead. Even those eventually faded. His eyes tracked the creature's movement deeper inland, in order to warn his captain appropriately about the heading of the great threat. That beast could harry or sack any city in the Free marches that it desired. And for a moment he could not help but worry about his home, his family.

He shook his head free of that sense of nostalgia. Warning the Order, and Kirkwall, stood out as his priority. He bore an oath, which he intended to keep, despite fond memories or worry. His mind raced with questions about what this foul omen could mean.

 _Was Thedas at the cusp of another Blight? Perhaps something direr? What could the appearance of such a beast here, outside the city, possibly mean?_

The hastily purchased cloak whipped behind him as he ran toward the city, and past the gate guards. His pursuit of Hawke and her companions wholly fell entirely from his mind as he rushed toward the Gallows to report what he'd seen at the nearby Sundermount.

 **-2-**

The poor receipt report about the dragon sighting left Sebastian concerned over his reputation. Known as trustworthy, observant and diligent, he had grown unaccustomed to the kinds of questioning glances and inquiries laced with sarcasm and derision that met his revelation. Despite his position, no one took his observation of the dragon in Sundermount seriously. Though in rereading his own account later, he could hardly fault them. It sounded preposterous from start to finish; so much so that he burned the parchment as his ire seethed. And the natural target for his irritation flashed to the forefront of his mind again in a flash of curious, cool eyes and dark hair—Hawke!

That embarrassment spurred Sebastian to redouble his efforts to apprehend her. He would find this menace. He would have irrefutable proof of her misdeeds. He would see her confined. In all this, however, the question of how loomed large.

She had eluded him since that night in Darktown, and persisted through a span of fruitless patrols afterward, but Sebastian doggedly resumed his duties and spent his off hours stalking even the faintest sign of her trail. It met with the same amount of success as his earlier machinations; at least until a midnight alarm rose up in the Gallows.

The barracks emptied, every knight on edge as they rushed about directed by the captains toward various postings. A good dozen or more templars were ordered toward the Chantry. They made their way through Kirkwall with great haste; Sebastian among them. His thoughts raced.

 _What happened? Why were they all in such a panic? Why were so many of his brethren sent to the temple in Hightown?_ Nameless, vaporous fears dashed through his mind as his heart thudded in his chest, which he chose to blame solely upon the exertion of their pace. His hand tightened on the grip of the bow in his hand, ready for whatever they might discover, or so he thought, like the brothers and sisters about him.

They entered the Chantry, staying their weapons out of respect and consideration for the holy place. A handful of templars stood at the end of the foyer. When he reached them, the sight ruffled him. It was neither his first time espying felled brethren nor lifeless mages, but to find them in a place of worship, among the trappings of the church, Andraste, and the Maker— _that_ disturbed him.

The area near the confessionals bore scorch marks, shattered glass, and other signs of the struggle, including a thrum in the air that all present knew meant magic had been involved, beyond the more obvious evidence. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, pulling on the lyrium in his blood. He might not be able to reconstruct every detail of what happened, but like most of the more senior templars in Kirkwall he could sense the magic, feel the signatures of two mages … and something else.

"They weren't caught unawares," someone said in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"Then how did this happen?" a second hissed.

Sebastian remained still, crouched near a scorched rug, eavesdropping.

"The bastard must have hired someone with the guilds."

 _The bastard?_ Sebastian's curiosity piqued. His eyes swept over the scene, though his full attention remained with the templars speaking nearby.

"The Red Iron aren't that foolish."

Silence bloomed, and the archer nearly turned to confirm the two templars had left when the first spoke once more. "Well, he found someone. That much is certain."

"Karl said nothing of alliances."

"And you can see where that got him."

"Poor bastard."

The other templar scoffed. "He was plotting with this rogue apostate to escape. Nothing pitiable about it."

"Yes, sir. Still a shame to lose that kind of leverage."

"He stopped being leverage the moment the Ferelden saw him."

Suppressing a smug grin, a feeling of vindication flooded through Sebastian's veins with that single word. For a moment, he wondered if the other templars were insinuating the presence of yet another maleficar in their midst, but if they sought a Ferelden apostate, certainly Hawke was their target. _Yes, her capture would repair any damage that dragon debacle caused him in the eyes of his superiors._

Hope percolated anew beneath the metal of his armor, his certainty of purpose emboldened by his discoveries. The mage lay off on his own. The brand from the rite of tranquility upon his forehead was still fresh. He was not the first mage to receive that punishment for conspiring. Given the destruction and damage marring this alcove of the Chantry, the manner of the tranquil's death struck Sebastian as curious.

 _Why slit his throat? Why single him out?_ he wondered, staring into the ashen face of one of the order's many charges here in Kirkwall.

His gaze alighted on the brand upon the mage's forehead. The Chantry's blazing sun, a sign of the light of Andraste and hope of the reunion of man with the Maker. His expression turned sour, recalling the tale in the Chant of Light. With a scowl, he stood and regarded the mage with heart of a devout Andrastian. _Serves him right_.

 **-3-**

Sebastian barely slept in the days following the massacre at the Chantry, but he shared his state of exhaustion with many of his brethren who also volunteered their time to ensure the safety within the Kirkwall temple in addition to their usual responsibilities. As he trudged down through the city toward his barracks in the Gallows, a pair of guards rushed past him on the stairs. Paying them little mind, he wove through the winding streets with one thing in him—his bunk. At least until an entire of squad of city guards stampeded past him.

A mixture of curiosity and anxiety pushed a burst of adrenaline into his system, and Sebastian fell into step behind them. Another pair of guards stood at the entrance of one of the neighborhoods that historically made up the city's alienage; one of them stepped toward Sebastian with a raised hand as if he intended to halt him.

"Ser, apologies, but—"

"Let him pass," a stern female voice called.

With a polite nod, the templar slipped past the guards. As he stepped into the courtyard the hairs on his arms stood on end. _Magic_. His eyes scanned the scene, the bodies, the signs of battle; then his gaze flicked upward toward the windows looking down on the open square. A few curtains shifted with the blatant turn of his head.

"Were there any witnesses?" he asked, approaching the redhead standing beneath the tree that dominated this corner of Lowtown. Once under the cover of the canopy, Sebastian gestured around them toward the various windows.

Her scowl deepened as she shot him a measuring glance. "No. Our canvas of this neighborhood offered little of use."

"Shame." His gaze returned to the victims, specifically the man wearing an ornate robe. "They are foreign."

"Tevinter," the woman stated in a gruff, utilitarian tone. "Slavers. We've been getting reports about them skulking about the docks and Lowtown."

"Slavers?" His brow raised.

"No one has gone missing," she said as if that alone were the reason for his show of surprise.

"Why are they in Kirkwall?" _And why bring a magister along?_ That particular detail stuck in his mind.

"Looking for an elf, or so is the word."

Sebastian snorted a laugh.

"Doesn't look like they will be doing much more looking," a rather, jovial fellow added.

"No. It does not," the woman replied. Her tone was even, reasonable, if a bit cold.

Judging from the icy stare that passed between the guards, there seemed to be no love lost between them. Sebastian said nothing.

"That will be all, Aveline," the older man stated.

Her eyes narrowed slightly before making her way across the courtyard. The new arrival turned his attention to the templar. "And what interest do you lot have in this mess?"

"Unrestrained magic running loose in Kirkwall?" the templar inquired with a heavy dose of sarcasm in his voice.

"The magister's dead."

Sebastian's lips tugged upward into a smug look that settled over his entire face. "And you think he was the only mage involved?"

"You know otherwise?"

"Just look around—scorch marks, burns, crushing, someone was thrown against that wall with a great deal of force," he said gesturing to his right. Then he stopped near a man whose head and shoulders had been crushed and lay in a shallow crater. "And how else might you explain what happened to this man?"

The guard gave no explanation; Sebastian knew he had none."

"May I have your leave to speak with your men, and any witnesses?" the templar requested with a modicum of courtesy.

They traded serious looks that might have caused any other subject to wilt, but finally the burly fellow said, "Suit yourself," giving the knight a dismissive wave before walking off to join a pair of his men.

His absence did not perturb Sebastian. A thorough inspection of the bodies, damage and signs in the terrain told a fascinating, yet deadly story. The slavers had surrounded the courtyard. Attacked a small group of people, who managed to survive despite being outnumbered by mercenaries. He inspected the home that ambushed group emerged from, discovering more bodies and disabled traps.

Clearly, they were skilled, more so than their attackers expected, clearly. An electric tingle played over his skin in the confined space, and he felt certain Hawke had been there, that her magic pulsed among the traces that made the lyrium in his blood sing. Shaking away the foolish thought, he exited once more.

After informing the guards of what he found, he turned his efforts toward finding a witness who could confirm his suspicions. Surely, someone had seen them.


	5. A Chilling Encounter

**Summary:** Lowtown can be a little sketchy at night, as Hawke already knows. But this is one night she won't soon forget, nor will her pursuer.

 **a/n:** In this AU, Sebastian was invested with the Templars rather than the Chantry. Upon his vigil he made a chivalric oath along with his oath of loyalty and service. Thank to joufancyhuh for the idea that sparked this endeavor, slow going as it has been.

 **A Chilling Encounter**

 **-1-**

A chill hung in the misty air rolling in from the docks. When Siobhán Hawke stepped into it from the raucous warmth of the Hanged Man, a violent shiver ran through her body. Her hands rubbed over her arms as she blinked a few times to allow her vision to adjust to the encroaching darkness. Despite the lateness of the hour, her feet did not lead her toward her uncle's dwelling; even after more than a year, she still could not consider that dank, dusty room that she and her siblings shared in that crumbling hovel as home.

She sighed quietly, pacing a slow, well-known route through Lowtown. It wasn't the kind of relaxed walk she used to enjoy. With that blasted templar nipping at her heels, there wasn't much anymore that relaxed Siobhán. Her pace slowed further, her lips curling into a scowl when she noticed the Chantry sister wandering about in the crossroads ahead. In the relative quiet, she couldn't help but overhear the conversation that struck up between the carked1 priestess and a killbuck.2

Keeping to the shadows, she listened in. The woman spoke about needing assistance though without naming the task specifically. That alone raised questions. The scruffy-looking man offered help, rather more politely than Siobhán expected he might. Inhaling a deep breath through her nose, Siobhán rubbed at the back of her neck where a bit of stiffness plagued her even before she witnessed this curious exchange.

 _He_ _'ll help all right_ , she thought. _Relieve you of your coin and your virtue. And you'll be lucky if it ends there._ With a shake of her head, she tugged on her glove; the metal of her focus felt cold against her palm, exacerbating the chill in the air. "When will people learn?" she mumbled under her breath, waiting to follow until both were out of sight.

Things were tense enough in Lowtown, the last thing she or anyone else needed was an attack on a Chantry priestess to increase the presence of the guards and likely the templars as well. A low groan hung in her throat at the thought of one in particular played through her mind. She couldn't let that come to pass, even if this foolish woman could clearly do with a lesson in the reality of the world beyond her glittering, incense-perfumed palace in Hightown.

Measured steps carried Hawke over the uneven stone in the wake of the sister and the thug. Muttering a quick incantation and brushing her fingers across her thigh, she felt her skin tingle as she passed from view, for a few brief moments at least. The illusion never lasted long, but it would work well enough in this situation. She crept into the alley in silence, concentrating on maintaining the spell.

 _Four on one? That is just rude._

The sister screamed as the redheaded man slammed her against the wall. "We'll take that coin now, mistress," he said, sliding a knife out of a make-shift sheath dangling from his belt.

 _Well, here goes everything_ , Siobhán thought. The odds weren't in her favor, this she knew, but with care and concentration she felt she might just manage to get the priestess and herself out of that situation relatively unscathed. Hopefully, the other woman's prayers might help, too, Siobhán thought as she filled her lungs and stretched out her hand.

Murmuring another incantation, her camouflage dropped completely as lightning arced from her fingertips, swirling around and sparking against the metal focus against her palm. The air crackled with scent of ozone as a bright purple-white light jumped from one man to the next. Her other hand shot out toward the woman in Chantry robes, who started to scream anew. When a sheer shell shimmered around the blond woman, the sound muffled as well. Like dominoes, the men fell to their knees. Siobhán rushed forward and slit the first man's throat with a dagger drawn from a sheath on her calf.

An instant later, it cut through the air toward the man struggling to pick up his bow after the tremors began to subside from his body. The wet gurgle of blood accompanied the blade's purchase in his neck.

With a small gesture on her part, the redheaded man found himself sheathed in prison sized perfectly just for him. Bars encircled him, arcing with energy. She held her hand in his direction, tripping the last of his compatriots before he could escape. While Siobhán didn't know whether the priestess would turn her over to the Chantry, she was certain any man willing to mug a sister would sell her out to the first templar he saw for a few coppers. That fact made her decision an easy one.

She delivered a swift kick to the man's gut and he collapsed onto the ground. "Don't rush off, mate." Her foot pressed onto his cheek, and he groaned under her weight. With a slow turn of her wrist, the face of the man in the soul cage twisted in agony. The snap of bones rang through the small alley. Her breath heaved in her chest as her hand dropped. She leaned on her knee, twisting her head to try and catch the last attacker's eyes.

"Don't worry, this'll be quick. Well, quicker," she said as her foot inched toward his neck. A fist-sized green orb seemed to ooze out of her fingertips. Then suddenly it plummeted toward him. The acid worked fast, it wouldn't dissolve the entire body, but it would deal with the threat of him ratting her out to the Gallows. She stepped over him, before the globule spread far enough to ruin her boots; certainly, if she planned to invest in this Deep Roads endeavor, she couldn't afford to replace another pair.

Rubbing her palms together, she walked toward the priestess who stared at her wide-eyed. "You know, Sister, your kind really ought to keep to the Chantry unless you're going to bring your metal boy toys along for the ride. Slumming it can be right unsafe, especially when you're flashing coin about."

The woman seemed to calm when it became obvious that the mage bore her no ill will. With a snap of her fingers, the protective bubble that held the woman safe from the lightning and other harassment, fell away.

"Well, thank you for your timely intervention. I am … out of my element."

Siobhán snorted. "Truer words were never spoken. You should probably run back to Hightown, now."

"I can't. I came here to find someone."

"And you did. Four of them that all wanted the same thing. And if you're lucky, it was only your coin they would have made off with." The mage turned, as far as she was concerned they were done and she had a lumpy bed on the other side of the district waiting for her.

"Wait," the woman grabbed her upper arm.

Siobhán's hand landed on her wrist and turned it until the sister released her, with a cry.

"I need someone of bloody skill, but also integrity. You know? The kind who might leap to someone's defense."

The mage laughed, shaking her head. "You people. Don't you have a whole league of Andraste's blessed do-gooders at your beck and call? Go grab one of them."

"I can't." The priest dug a piece of paper out of her pocket with her free hand. "I have a … a _charge_ who needs passage out of Kirkwall."

There was something in the way the woman said the word charge that sounded suggestive to Siobhán, not lustfully, but identifiably. Hawke's brows pulled tight over her eyes. _Is a sister of the Chantry really asking her to secret a mage out of the city?_

"Meet me here," she said, shaking the paper as if she thought Siobhán hadn't seen it.

Hawke's consideration of the proposal dragged out, far too long it seemed.

"Halt!" a lilting voice called out from the head of the alleyway.

Her head whipped around. Catching sight of who the voice belonged to, Siobhán muttered, "For the love of the Maker."

Using her grip on the sister, she spun the woman, trading positions with her and sending her crashing into the chest of the auburn-tressed templar barreling toward her. She stepped over the man with the dagger in his neck, bending mid-stride to pick it up. She knew it would lose her a step or two, but it was that or gold she didn't have to spare.

Taking them two at a time, they dashed up the stairs to the right and sprinted past the front doors of several tiny homes. Their footfalls echoed in the quiet night. She glanced back, knowing it was a mistake before she did it. The look of determination in his eyes would push them both to the brink. He wouldn't allow her to outrun him tonight; she could sense that. She darted left but realized a moment too late that she'd made the wrong choice.

There were two more turns in this lane before it came to a dead end, she knew this, but still she kept running. She muttered an incantation under her breath, holding her fist closed until she rounded the corner; then she opened her hand and saw the ground beneath her glow with the rune. She prepared another as the passageway thinned. Not knowing if he stopped to dispel it or just slowed to skirt around it, she dropped another in her wake. _This one should cover the entire width of the area_ , she thought as she rounded the last corner.

There was no relief to be found as she stared at the wall rising at the end of the lane. Nothing to scale, no window open to tuck into. She dropped a third rune and ducked behind a crooked stack of empty crates nearby.

"Bollocks," she whispered on an exhale. _Of course, it would be him. Dogged, Maker-forsaken, son of a trundle-tail_.3

A high-pitched chiming sound sung through the street with the jostling of his chain mail as he ran. The sound faded when his pace slowed. Perhaps he knew this part of town as well as she.

 _Think you have me cornered, do you? I_ _'ll show you, you smug bastard,_ she thought with a sneer.

"You have nowhere to go, little mouse." His voice carried over the stone, even as the pulse of cold shifted past her as he dispelled the last of her runes, she could appreciate the tingling hum in the sensation. There was an almost comforting warmth to the pulse, even as it dimmed the magic thrumming through her blood.

 _You just keep telling yourself that._ Pushing her back against the wall to keep herself out of sight, she twisted her hand and cast a spell she'd learned as a girl. It used to get her into loads of trouble, too, she remembered the lectures from her father almost fondly. A vision of her appeared 15 feet down the alley. And like a puppeteer, she made it hop out of an alcove and duck behind a set of stairs. An arrow skittered off the steps, thankfully not through the illusion.

"Feck," he cursed.

Siobhán smiled. When she heard that singing sound of metal rings, she pushed harder against the wall as if with enough pressure, she might just sink into the stone and disappear entirely. Her teeth dug down on her bottom lip. _Just need to catch him off guard._ Every muscle in her body tensed up with the approaching footfalls. As he jogged past the stack of crates, she reached out and touched him. It was clear from the way he started to turn his body that he'd seen her at the last second, but she got the drop on him.

As the cold overtook him, the templar stumbled. But the time he hit the ground, the spell encapsulated his body almost entirely in ice and he skittered across the stone. A few bits of ice chipping off and skittering to melt in the matted layer of dust coating the walkway.

With more confidence and ease, she walked toward him slowly. This time, it was her voice that brimmed with smugness. "So, if I'm the mouse, then you're supposed to be what? The cat? I think not." She plunked the shell around him with a single finger, making the crystalline shell trill.

She could hear the hum of his voice even through the layer of ice. "Ah, ah, ah. None of that," she said with a snap of her fingers. Everything around them went completely silent. He wouldn't be able to dispel himself out of this, at least not while the frost tomb lasted.

"Don't worry, pussycat. Someone will happen along sooner or later." Siobhán chuckled to herself as she took a few backwards steps down the lane. "Or not. Long may you be astray, templar," she added before she turned around with a little hop and hurried back down the lane.

 _Bedtime would have to wait_ , she thought, making her way back to the Hanged Man. With her pursuer incapacitated for a time, it was the perfect time to see what that cracked Chantry sister needed so desperately as to come to Lowtown alone at night. Of course, she had zero intention of going alone. At the tavern, she found Anders, Fenris, and Varric still upright and clothed which meant that at least the betting had not devolved to articles of clothing … yet.

 **-2-**

The steam from the hot bath still wafted off his skin when Sebastian pulled the first shirt over his head. He followed it with a second as he shivered beneath them both. "Fecking apostate," he growled as he pulled his padding on and then his armor.

Even his anger over the incident could not get his blood reheated after the hours he spent lying in that alley. It had been nearly dawn before an older gentleman walking a massive hound stumbled across him, almost literally. He'd stood there talking at him for minutes before finally telling Sebastian not to move, that he'd find someone to help. Then, of course, he came back with two of the city guards, who finally sent for someone from the Gallows.

Embarrassment heated his cheeks at the memory of it as he donned his armor. First, the dragon, now this. A reputation that took years to build teetered at the brink of complete destruction all because of one mage, a single, slippery apostate. He would find a way to end her menace, no matter what it took. And with her capture, perhaps he'd regain some of his faltering standing.

His feet pounded against the stone and pavement as he marched from the Gallows to the Chantry in Hightown. His keen eyes scanned every face in the vestibule to no avail. He continued deeper into the private areas of the building in his search for the pinch-faced blond woman he netted in the alleyway the previous night. He would get answers; and she would tell him everything she knew.

 _Finally_ , he thought when he saw her at a desk in one of the communal quarters. "Excuse me."

"Ser?" she asked, her voice dripped with a sweet edge that left a sour note on the back of his tongue.

"Sebastian."

"I am Sister Petrice," she said in that same tone as she approached him with her hand out. "Good to make your acquaintance, Ser Sebastian."

He did not take her hand, and he did not mince his words. "You were in Lowtown last night," he accused.

Her jaw dropped, and she shook her head at him. The woman closed the distance between them. "Keep your voice down," she muttered in an angry whisper. She grabbed his elbow and ushered him into a smaller cell, shutting the door behind him.

The behavior seemed odd to him. A sister secreting herself away with a strange man, templar or no, he was certain it would likely have been frowned upon. It lit a fire of suspicion he did nothing to try and hide.

"I saw you with an apostate."

"No, you saw me with someone that stopped four men from mugging me. Or worse," she added.

"So, you claim you don't know who she was?"

The sister shook her head. "I'm not so dim. I asked around. Someone told me she's called Hawke. But I don't know anything beyond that except that she shot lightning out of her fingertips and crushed a man to death with the flick of her wrist."

Sebastian did not buy it. There was more, he could sense it. "Forgive my doubt, but you seemed rather cozy when I saw you."

"When? As she was about to break my arm?" Petrice yanked up her sleeve showing off the deep purple and red marks near her wrist.

He studied the bruises, then looked back up at her. His tone softened a shade or two when he removed a bit of the accusatory nature from it. "Why were you there?"

"We sisters often make visits to Lowtown."

 _More untruths_. Sebastian bite back the grin that wanted to form on his lips. "At night? Alone?"

Petrice sighed, her shoulders slumping a little lower. "Fine. I went in search of one of our parishioners. She usually attended the midnight services. I have not seen her in nearly a month. I wanted to check in on her. But before I even got near her home I was accosted by those thugs."

"And Hawke was with them."

Patrice shook her head. "No. I screamed when one of the men struck me. The next thing I know there is lightning all around. And that blessed woman."

Sebastian's brow raised as he scoffed. "Maleficar. Apostate," he corrected. "She's a menace."

"She saved my life."

"And nearly broke your arm."

"When I grabbed her."

"You what?"

Petrice's hands clasped together in front of her. The sound rang around them in the small room, but it worked to secure his attention. "I tried to stop her from leaving. Wanted to thank her," she explained.

"And she repaid your thanks with pain and injury?"

"Do you like having people touch you without your consent?" Her voice held a pointedness that did little to settle his nerves, but he could not fault her logic entirely.

"I can't say that I do," he agreed as his skin crawled with a cold sensation once more. It started at his arm, where Hawke had touched him the night before, then crept across his skin and through his bones once more until he shivered under the memory of it.

"Well, then it was my mistake. Though I understand your position, Ser Sebastian. Apostates create worry and sow discontent among the people. Alas, I know no more than I have told you."

"You're certain?"

Petrice looked him squarely in the eye and shook her head. "No. Nothing."

She didn't show any of the skittish signs of most liars. All the same, he did not trust her; there was something about her beady eyed stare and the purse of her thin lips that rubbed him the wrong way.

She laid her bony hand on the handle and pulled the door open. "Now, ser, if there is nothing else."

Sebastian gently nodded, a gesture of mere politeness and consideration for the location and her station more than the woman herself. Vestments of the Chantry or no, he could find no trace of anything holy in those dark, empty eyes. She dipped into a shallow curtsy and exited the cell, leaving Sebastian alone to mull over her version of the events.

It proved a difficult reconciliation to make—Hawke's assistance to a Chantry sister, the scene he stumbled upon in that alley, even the fact that the mage didn't kill him, when clearly, she could have.

 _What is she up to?_ he wondered. With a shake of his head, he exited the cell, eyeing Sister Petrice once more before making his way back into the vestibule. The Chant was just beginning, so he took a seat with the other parishioners from all walks of life and listened, while his mind raced around this conundrum.

1 Fretfully anxious

2 A fierce looking fellow

3 Low-bred dog


End file.
